Clever little weaver

In the drumroll of night,

the spider weaves a catcher above my head,

luring away the aches of my mind

to feed on them and become fat.

Contented, it will scuttle away

at daybreak, regurgitating tapestries

of my dreams as it goes.

Cardiac Arrest

The flat edge hits my nose.

Sharp. Unwanted.

Thump.

‘An evening of heart’,

the print on my face reads.

Thump.

I’m flung waist-deep into the quadrants –

which door will I choose?

Thump.

Careful! Don’t flood them,

they might burst and leak

Thump.

red wine on the prize rug.

Sweet-talk them. Coax out

Thump.

the opaque scent of mind.

Keep reaching for the string.

Thump.

Really, it’s an advert

for a radio station’s new show.

Thump.

Oh, I see.

What happens next?

Thump.

Thump thump thump.

Thump thump.

Thump.

 

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